


Falling to Heaven

by oneforyourfire



Series: Suho Birthday Sextravaganza [6]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 11:59:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10921371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/oneforyourfire
Summary: Because Jongdae, he’s already started, and Joonmyun, he needs to catch up.  (aka suchen have phone sex while suho is in a subway bathroom au)





	Falling to Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> warning: phone sex, recycled tweetfic +1000 words
> 
> [i close my eyes, drawing my heaven~](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QawTHEb9SE0)

Joonmyun already knows—has learned—not to check his phone in public when Jongdae messages him on kakao, has traumatized too many ahjummas on the subway, too many curious teenagers at the park with illicit shots of Jongdae's flushed skin, parted lips, hard cock that one time at the cafe, right as his order was being called. 

So he watches in tense anticipation as his notification bar floods with messages. 

_thinking of you_ , he sees

yeobo sent a photo

_touch me, hyung_

yeobo sent a voice note 

_hyung come on_

yeobo sent a photo

He’s on the tailend of a twenty minute commute, and Joonmyun's fingers itch to slide his lock screen open, respond when Jongdae sends a single "please. He presses his fingers into his thighs instead, blinks past the lurid images dancing behind his eyelids. Last time, it had been Jongdae in Joonmyun's favorite—now retired—work tie, the knot clumsy, loose enough for the excess fabric to pool at his navel, tease near his cock if he writhed just right. Jongdae always knows how to writhe just right. 

Willing his breathing even, he knocks his head back against the train wall, earns a concerned looked from the ahjumma to his right, flushes as he bows his head and squeezes his buzzing phone tighter. 

yeobo sent a voice note

yeobo sent a picture

_joonmyunnie hyung please_

It’s only one more stop, a minute to scan his tmoney card, another to stumble into a bathroom stall, lock it behind him. 

Another photo. A single "hyung.”

Jonmyun nearly trips, as he opens the latest, a video call. 

He wrenches for earphones from his briefcase, nearly trips over the toilet as hits accepts. 

And Jongdae’s voice—when Joonmyun answers—is already this ruined, shaky thing, deliciously frayed at the edges. Joonmyun can practically _taste_ the heady devastation of his whimper, feel the phantom tug of his restless fingers in Joonmyun’s hair as he pants for him to fuck him hard, fuck him good, fuck him like he deserves, hyung, he’d fucking promised. 

His eyes are heavy-lidded, bare chest heaving, swaying that damn work tie that he’s tied around his chest. 

Wrecked, he wrecks him. 

“Hyung,” he pants, breathy, theatrical. It burns through him. 

Joonmyun tugs his shirt tails free, lets his shame bleed away as his zipper and belt clink against the white linoleum, shoulders knock against the stall doors.   
He mashes his face into his shoulder to muffle his moan as he gropes down to stroke himself. Fast, hard. Because Jongdae, he’s already started, and Joonmyun, he needs to catch up. 

Jongdae moans again, hitching and sharp, and the sound is staticky from how high and ruined he sounds. 

“ _Fuck_ , Jongdae.” 

“Hyung,” he gasps. “Hyung, you aren’t here,” he whines. “Wish you were here.”

Joonmyun, he wishes, too. Groans as much in a rush, confesses that he’s already touching himself, too. He’s so, so fucking turned on, Jongdae, fuck. Why couldn’t he wait for him, just a little larger. 

“Wanna see,” Jongdae insists, interrupting, and Joonmyun’s hands are shaking as he turns off front cam, centers the shot on his throbbing cock. The shot is too shaky, pixelated as his strokes tremble. But Jongdae moans like he’s _dying_ when he sees it. 

“ _Fuck_ , want it in my mouth,” he moans. “Want it inside me.” 

Joonmyun shudders, bites hard on his shoulder, imagining it. 

Fuck, fuck.

“Why aren’t you _here_?” His throat heaves with a whine. “Couldn't wait. Had to use that dildo we bought together because you’re not here.” He switches the camera, too, shaky and pixelated, too.

And fuck, fuck, fuck, Joonmyun wants to be fucking his mouth, too, fucking the pretty, curled corners raw and gasping. Wants to fuck his ass, too, thrusting until that dark, unnerving glint in Jongdae’s eyes hazes over with drunken arousal. Wants, needs, needs, needs—too.

“You promised,” Jongdae reminds him brokenly. “You—fuck—you _promised_.” And he _had_ , after their first time, Jongdae all orgasm-drunk and beautifully flushed and plush-lipped and loose-limbed, weak with satiation but still fucking demanding that Joonmyun fuck him all the time, or at least whenever he wanted it. He needed that cock. He fucking needed it. And Joonmyun, he should give it to him, should indulge his favorite, right? And Joonmyun, as always, helpless to resist him. 

“I'm sorry,” he manages, raw, ragged. 

“Make it up to me by—by eating me out when you come home.”

His body bows, underscoring his point. His thighs are flexing, wrist flicking, cock jerking as he fucks himself even faster, rougher—the way you never quite want to, he’d teased him the last time they’d done this, the way you’re always scared is too much. Never willing to fuck me so fast and so hard that it _hurts_.

The dildo they’d picked out, it’s pink, ribbed, _long_ and fuck, Jongdae can just fucking _take_ it. So fast, so hard it hurts, so fast, so hard that his legs are trembling, stomach heaving, moans stuttering into these high-pitched, breathy little hiccups of Joonmyun’s name. 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck_. 

Joonmyun’s hips jump helplessly into his own fist, and he chokes on a long, drawnout groan. 

“Your face,” Joonmyun manages.“Wanna—please wanna see.”

Jongdae gasps, fumbles, turns the camera. And yes, fuck, his eyes are that hazed out beautiful that always Joonmyun drunk with want, his eyelashes heavy, lips bitten and red, throat heaving with the force of his moans, and Joonmyun wants to bury his face in that throat, bury his cock that body, lose himself completely in everything Jongdae. Fuck him as hard and as rough as he can manage, even if it’s not as hard and rough as Jongdae wants, wants to give him everything, for Jongdae to keep taking, taking, taking. 

“Jongdae.” Probably too loud, too fucking obvious for what he’s fucking doing, in fucking public. 

But Jongdae whimpers _hyung_ back, melting completely against their sheets, honest and overcome and raw and beautiful. 

And Joonmyun’s head crashes against the stall door again, an electric, painful reminder of just where he is and what he is doing. And the shame, the risk makes it burn even hotter, has him stumbling closer, closer, closer, fingers sloppy around his own cock, limbs trembling with Jongdae’s every hiccuping moan. 

The fingers of his left hand stumble up towards his chest over the fabric of his shirt, pinching at his nipple as his wrist twists even faster. It's the way Jongdae touches him—fast, fast, fast, rough, rough, rough, come, hyung, come on, for your favorite, come on, for me, me, me. 

Jongdae is chanting it now, too, his eyes clenched shut as he demands it, gasps and quivers for it. It only becomes breathier when he comes—with the most beautiful, full-bodied tremor, the most beautiful, hitching whine—but it’s no less urgent, no less entitled. 

“Come on, hyung. Come, hyung. Come. Come. Come.” 

And, it’s as always, too fucking effective. Joonmyun barely having a chance to wad a handful of toilet paper around his cock, bury his face in his shoulder before he’s coming long and hard and loud. 

It takes him an indeterminate amount of time, of breathy, concerned “hyung’s” to recover, assure that he’s okay then hang up. 

He’s shaking still as he stumbles out of the stall. 

His reflection in the soap-spotted mirror is a mess, hair disheveled, cheeks flushed, shirt rumpled. He splashes water on his face, tries to tame the wild strands on his head, smooth the wrinkles in his shirt. 

_bring jjangmyeong_ , Jongdae sends, and Joonmyun laughs at his phone, types out a tingly-fingered reply, spares himself one more glance in the mirror before heading back outside. _mandu, too_ , he receives a second later. _and cola_.

**Author's Note:**

> 6/11
> 
> clip


End file.
